


The Misadventures of the PTSA

by DesdemonaSighs



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Parents, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, M/M, and also some other stuff, fili is sexy, he owns a comic book shop, im gonna do it anyway tho who cares, thorin is the ptsa president
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 15:02:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2736962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesdemonaSighs/pseuds/DesdemonaSighs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There had been a time when Bilbo Baggins had believed joining the Erebor PTSA for his nephew was the greatest idea a new guardian of a teenager could have.</p><p>That was before the <i>spy stuff</i> started happening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> here it is. the start of my new bagginshield fic.
> 
> i dont even know.

Without much thought to it at all, somehow Bilbo Baggins had managed to become the guardian of a 16 year old boy. How this had happened, Bilbo was still not sure, but the conclusion to it all was that 30 year old novelist Bilbo Baggins was now officially a father.

Well, an uncle-dad, or a duncle for short, which was what Frodo called him behind a hand, giggling to himself as if it was the funniest thing in the world, which it kind of was very much wasn’t. It was all very much serious business indeed, what with the paperwork and the funeral for Frodo’s parents, and yes, those were things Bilbo was going to stop thinking about if he intended to keep off a headache. 

It wasn’t that Bilbo didn’t love his nephew – he very much did, in fact, possibly more than he had ever loved another human being in his life, but he was still youngish and even though Frodo was already mostly grown, Bilbo didn’t know what being a parent really entailed. 

“Well,” Frodo said, lifting his eyes from his book and looking at where Bilbo was pacing in front of the fireplace, “It means you make me lunch and take me to school, and then when I come home you ask me how my day is and make me spend time with you when all I really want to do is play video games.”

Well, that all seemed easy enough.

“It is,” Frodo reassured. It was high summer, still, and Bilbo had spent the better part of a three week stint from writing to do a number of things. One of those was figuring out how in God’s name Bilbo was going to care for a teenager in his tiny London flat with only one bedroom and bathroom. The second thing was contacting his editor, Gandalf, who seemed to have all the connections to everywhere, and finding a house in the suburbs.

It’s a lovely little place, I assure you, Gandalf had said, which was not really assuring at all because it was Gandalf and most things he said were either half-lies or whole-lies. A great town with great people and a great school.

Which was how Bilbo and Frodo, without much thought, ended up in Erebor.

* * *

Unpacking meant a variety of things. It meant taking things out and putting things away and spending forty five minutes crying over a picture of his lost brother, Drogo, and then promptly hiding it when Frodo came ambling down the stairs. 

“What are you doing, Duncle?” Frodo asked, biting into an apple and scratching at his nose.

“Nothing, boy,” Bilbo assured, and then promptly started crying again.

It was like this for a while, anyway, with summer still seeping in between the shuttered blinds, even when neither of them wanted it to; it reminded them too much Primula’s apple pie which they would all enjoy with some cider on any given summer day. It was a shock to the system to remember that things were no longer how they use to be.

Erebor, for its part, was exactly as Gandalf said – lovely if not a little daunting, surely, in a way Bilbo never thought would make him uncomfortable. It was all small streets and white picket fences; all the lawns were perfectly mowed and everyone seemed to know everybody in the kind of way that made Bilbo nervous.

Perhaps he was overreacting, which was very much possible as that was a Baggins trait through and through, and Frodo seemed to be settling in very well, if very well meant never leaving the house and sitting in the dark most of the time.

“We need to get out of this place,” Bilbo announced over dinner that night, when they had both resolutely forgotten about the Crying Incident.

Frodo nodded, “Oh thank God, I thought you would never say it. I’ll pack my bags and we can be in London tonight!”

“Wait, no, not like that,” Bilbo said, and Frodo pouted, sitting back down. “I just mean, perhaps, we should go and see the town. Make some friends. Find what there is to do around here.”

Frodo looked wary, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I dunno, Duncle, wouldn’t that mean we would have to… like… socialize and stuff?”

Bilbo let out an exasperated breath. “My boy, how do you expect to live a normal life when you don’t even want to leave the house?”

“I don’t want a normal life,” Frodo replied, taking a bite of his sausages and rice, “I’m perfectly content with the asocial life I lead now.”

But that was no good, anyway, because there was only allowed to be one asocial person in the household, and that would be Bilbo, goddammit.

"This will be quickly remedied!" Bilbo exclaimed, if a bit inanely, since Frodo had gone back to scrolling through Twitter on his phone.

"Okay," Frodo responded.

"Okay. It's decided. We'll get ice cream."

Frodo hummed, and then looked up, surprised. "Did you not know that I'm lactose intolerant?"

* * *

 It turned out Frodo was lactose intolerant.

As well as allergic to peanuts, which were both things Bilbo believed he should have been told before he could accidentally kill his nephew through a Nutella and butter sandwich. The ice cream shop was out of the question, as well as the chocolate shop he had been planning on visiting with Frodo, and so they had ambled their way awkwardly through Erebor until they had happened upon a comic book shop.

Frodo had insisted on going in, muttering about something called a manga, which Bilbo had originally mistaken as a misspoken "mango", in which led to a misunderstanding and general confusion about what the wares of a comic book shop constituted of. Frodo had laughed, and Bilbo had been indignant, and so Bilbo ended up lurking in the back corner booth of the small cafe inside with a root beer float as Frodo leaned on the counter and flirted with the store clerk.

It felt like hours before Frodo finally wandered away from the clerk, who had leaned across and put a slip of paper, probably his phone number, into Frodo’s jacket pocket. It was probably only five minutes, at the most, and Bilbo remembered grudgingly that they had come out specifically so Frodo could make friends, so there was no use trying to pretend he wasn’t pleased about it, even if most of the parenting books he had read recently said he should be cold towards any suitor of his child, simply on principle as it were. Frodo waved at him where he had entered the “mango” section, and Bilbo sipped at his root beer float and tried not to feel, currently, as old as he felt.

“Your son seems to have taken an interest in my cashier,” came a voice to Bilbo’s right, and having not expected to be disturbed, startled and nearly dropped his root beer. A hand sweeped forward and caught Bilbo’s where he had nearly let go of his cup, steadying his startled fluttering.

Bilbo looked up, eyes large, and put his cup down, swiping his hand against his khakis where a bit of ice cream had poured over and gotten onto his palm. The man who had startled him simply smiled, blonde eyebrows raised.

“He’s not my son,” Bilbo said, quickly, perhaps too quickly, and then slowed himself and his own rapidly beating heart. “I mean-- erm, I mean, you see, he’s my nephew, is what I meant. And yes, he does seem to be interested in your cashier, in the, uh, romantic sense, I might believe, if anything.” Bilbo’s words caught up with his brain, and he realized rather belatedly that this man probably owned the shop.

The man’s smile grew behind his light scruff, dimples popping at his cheeks. “I thought you looked a bit young to have a son his age, but you never know nowadays. Some people have really good plastic surgeons.”

Bilbo laughed, surprised, scratching at his ear. “Medicine of the future, I tell you.”

“That’s right,” the man said, nodding seriously before he smiled lopsided once again, his eyes scrunching up sweetly. Bilbo blushed. “I’m Fee,” he took the seat that Bilbo kicked out, placing his large hands on the table.

“Robert, but most people call me Bilbo,” Bilbo sipped at his root beer, staring at Fee’s hands. His nails were short and clean, and his fingers were long and thick, pianist hands.

“Nice to meet you, Bilbo,” Fee looked at him imploringly, as if wishing to keep the conversation going. Bilbo was not good with words, and long ago, before Frodo, he had decided that being alone was better than having relationships. He was too uptight for it all, anyway, much too worried about his career and his pantry and his hearth to bother with anything else. That had been before Frodo, though, and Bilbo knew that was no way for a child to grow up.

He realized he hadn’t spoke in some time, and he swallowed the root beer he had been sipping on, looking at Fee. “You own the shop, then?” he asked, rather inanely.

Fee perked up, finally taking his lovely blue eyes off of Bilbo’s face. “Yeah, I do. It’s my dream job. You’re not from around here.” It wasn’t a question, and Bilbo ducked his head, nodding.

“Yeah, I’m from London. Moved here just about a month and a half ago.”

“I could tell,” Fee looked back at Bilbo, his eyes scrunching up in a good humor.

“Oh?”

“The accent,” he nodded shortly, “as well as the fact most everybody knows everybody around here. There’s no way to keep secrets around these parts.” Fee looked conspiratorial as he leaned forward, his large hands spreading out in a motion as if to encompass all the secrets in Erebor.

Bilbo snorted. “Now you’re making this town sound like a bad soap opera.”

“It is what it says on the tin,” Fee grinned, brushing a hand through the side of his thick hair.

“You’re a bit young to own a shop, aren’t you?” Bilbo raised an eyebrow, changing the subject.

“Never too young to chase your dream,” the vagueness of his answer and the lackluster tone of his voice made Bilbo smile. “I was hoping you wouldn’t ask my age before I could ask you to dinner.”

Bilbo blushed, his face warm as he buried it into the arm of his jumper. “Oh-- why would you ever-- oh dear, no. I mean! Not no, but…”

Fee’s eyes sparked good naturedly. “But, no. I get it. It’s fine. You’re new and I would hate to pressure you into anything before you could see the town and get to know more people. Who knows, you might find that I’m the nephew of the world’s most dangerous secret spy, who is also a spy himself, and we’re attempting to infiltrate the black market trade post that’s been disguised as a school by pretending we’re part of the PTSA in order to restore order to a downtrodden Erebor.”

Bilbo blinked three times, opened his mouth once, closed it, and then made a loud ‘hmm’ sound, before he said the first thing that popped into his mind. “There’s a PTSA?”

* * *

 There was, in fact, a PTSA.

The first meeting was that night, at 7, and Bilbo was going to be there.

He had asked Fee if he was going to come along, seeing as it was that things were easier for Bilbo when he knew at least one person there, but Fee had shook his head and given a soft smile.

“I’m only twenty-five, I have no business at a PTSA meeting,” he had scoffed, and alright, that was true, and bloody hell, he was young. Bilbo tried not to think about it.

Frodo had bagged off of it as well, stating his need to sit around and text and read “mangos” because that was important to his growth as a human being. Bilbo didn’t know how true that was, but he figured Frodo knew more about raising a child at this time than Bilbo and his numerous parenting books ever would.

So Bilbo went alone, wrapping a scarf around his neck and fixing his blazer even though it was rather warm outside. It was all for appearance sake, anyway, and he couldn’t show up to the first meeting of a very important club while looking a mess.

The PTSA was not what he was expecting. He had been expecting a room full of sweet, older women, gossiping and drinking lemonade and talking about what teachers had done what recently, and why they would need to raise money for the drama department again. It was nothing like that.

Upon entering the PTSA meeting, he had been accosted by a huge, tree of a balding man, who had stared at Bilbo with suspicion. “What are you doing here?” he asked gruffly, looming over Bilbo. His huge arms were covered in tattoos, and his eyebrows were pierced. He did not look like the type of man to be part of the PTSA, although Bilbo supposed parents came in lots of different shapes and sizes nowadays, what with him being a parent himself.

Bilbo held his hands up, eyes large in fear. “I- is this not the PTSA meeting?”

The man was pulled away by a shorter, less scary fellow, with a white beard and a kind looking face. He looked a bit like Bilbo’s long deceased grandfather, the Old Took.

“Aye, this is, laddie,” the older man said with a somber nod, “And what brings you here to us?”

“O-oh, well, my nephew was just enrolled in the school,” Bilbo managed when the big, looming man had stepped back enough to allow Bilbo to breathe, “And I thought it a good idea to join the PTSA and see what I can do for the school system.”

“He has no place here!” the scary man said, and the older man shushed him.

“Please excuse my brother,” the older man said, bowing his head politely, “I am Balin, PTSA vice president, and this is Dwalin, who is the campus head of security for Erebor High School.”

Bilbo paled considerably, hoping he hadn’t been rude to either of the men in the short time he had since making their acquaintances, since they both seemed to be very important fellows in the school system.

“Pleasure is all mine, sirs,” Bilbo said, impressed really by how professional he sounded.

Both Balin and Dwalin looked mightily confused, blinking and looking at each other, before they bursted into twin streams of laughter, heads tilting back. “Oh, lad, we’re going to like you here!” Dwalin roared through his giggling, slapping Bilbo on the back, which… ouch.

“Come, come meet everyone else here, Mr. …?”

“Oh, I’m Robert, but most call me Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins,” Bilbo held his hand out to shake Balin’s, and then Dwalin’s, before he was ushered off to meet the rest of the PTSA.

First he met Bofur, the drama teacher, Bifur, the Khuzdul teacher, and Bombur, the head chef and cooking teacher.

“At yer service,” Bofur had said, looking pleased.

“Vemu,” Bifur said, which apparently meant hello but could have also meant something else completely, judging by how Dwalin laughed at Bilbo’s confused face.

“Hello there, son!” Bombur had laughed, patting his round stomach. 

He then met Ori, the PTSA secretary and a student at Erebor High, Dori, his older brother and his legal guardian, and Nori, the PTSA treasurer. 

“H-hello Mr. Baggins!” Ori had looked up from his book for only a second before looking back down, blushing.

“Nice to meet you, boy-o,” Dori had nodded, smiling. 

“Hmph,” Nori grunted, although his eyes ran over Bilbo slowly enough that a dark blush came to Bilbo’s cheeks. 

Next was Gloin, the soccer coach and the father of the captain of the soccer team, Gimli, who was not present at the meeting, and Oin, the school nurse.

“My son Gimli is out with his friend Legolas tonight, although I have no idea why that boy wants anything to do with the Greenleaf family,” Gloin had said as ways of introduction.

“What’d you say your name was? Billy, was it?” Oin, who was hard of hearing, shouted.

The men that made up the PTSA were not at all what Bilbo was expecting. Erebor was beginning to surprise him.

“And this is Kili,” Balin said, leading Bilbo to the front of the room, where a young, dark haired boy was sitting, typing on his phone. He looked up, blinking at Bilbo, before a slow smile made its way onto his lips. He stood, pocketing his phone and bowing.

“At your service,” he grinned, his eyes sparkling eagerly. “It’s about time something interesting happened around here. 

Dwalin hit Kili over the head with the PTSA agenda that Ori had handed out, “Boy, what would your Uncle say if he heard you? Sayin’ things aren’t interesting around here, hmph, they’re far too interesting for my taste.”

Kili grinned sheepishly, sitting back down on his chair, which was at the end of a long line of cafeteria tables, set up in a rectangular shape so everyone could sit and face each other. He offered the seat beside him, and Bilbo sat, nervous.

“It’s nice to meet you, Kili,” Bilbo rubbed the tip of his hear awkwardly, worrying that he was not made for dealing with this type of lively group of men, no matter how much he wanted to be part of the PTSA.

“You too, Mr. Boggins,” Kili said, and when Bilbo made to correct him for the pronunciation of his name, leaned forward and interrupted him. “You can call me Kee, by the way. I’m eighteen, which is the legal age of consent in the state, I’m just saying. 

Dwalin pulled Kili back by the ends of his thick hair, eyes narrowed. “Just wait ‘till your Uncle gets here, and you’ll be in a world of trouble!”

Bilbo, for his part, was too shocked by the sudden, dawning similarities between Kili and Fee to really think of anything else.

The doors to the cafeteria opened, late summer light filtering in and illuminating the silhouette of a man. Everyone at the table stood, backs straight, as if showing respect. Bilbo blinked, unsure what was going on, and stood up at Kili’s urging.

In walked a gorgeous, tan, absolutely fit man, who looked across the room with sharp, blue eyes.

“Majestic,” Bilbo murmured, and Kili snickered beside him, elbowing Bilbo teasingly. Bilbo clamped his mouth shut, blushing. It was true though. This man was earth shatteringly gorgeous. Bilbo’s heart was in his throat, and he had never believed in love at first sight because it wasn’t real, it couldn’t be, and yet this man was making the horizons light just from the beauty of his eyes and-

“Who the fuck are you?” The man said, eyeing Bilbo distastefully.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Thorin Oakenshield, as it turned out, was a total arsehole. “He needs to leave,” he had said after Bilbo stuttered out an introduction, his treacherous heart still swooning at the majestic sight of him.

Kili had whined, and the entire PTSA had erupted in shouts of disagreement. Even Dwalin looked a bit angry at the thought of Bilbo leaving.

“Silence!” Mr. Oakenshield had commanded, and because apparently the position of being president of the PTSA was such an important one that it brokered all respect, everyone in the room went completely silent. “Balin, explain to me your reasoning as to bringing an outsider into our meeting." 

Bilbo could not understand the problem. He was a parent wasn’t he? Well, a Duncle, at least, and he was trying, alright, to be a good parent to Frodo. The PTSA had seemed like a perfect place to start before all of this had occurred. It was seemingly way too much work now.

Besides, he wasn’t that much of an outsider. Surely Mr. Oakenshield couldn’t tell so simply from the way Bilbo was dressed. Perhaps it was the accent. Maybe they were antiforeignists? 

“Thorin, lad, now listen,” Balin said, standing. “It’s a good idea to think about appearances. What would the school board,” Balin put odd emphasis on the phrase, “think if we turned away a parent from the PTSA just because he’s an outsider.” The way they said outsider was starting to make Bilbo feel self conscious.

“I don’t care what the school board thinks!” Mr. Oakenshield bellowed, “They’re already suspicious of us, but they have no proof to any of their claims. How do we know we can trust this-- this--” Mr. Oakenshield looked Bilbo up and down from where he was trying to hide behind Kili’s larger form, “halfling?”

“Halfling!” Bilbo shrieked, appauld, “Why, I never in my thirty ye-”

Kili clamped a hand over Bilbo’s mouth, but Bilbo would not be so easily oppressed. He jerked out of Kili’s grip. “Now, you hear this, Mr… Mr. Haughty-Majestic-Pants,” as far as insults went, Bilbo was not very good at them, “I am here as a parent and I expected to be treated with at least some fraction of respect! How outlandish of me to wish, don’t you think, when it’s evident that this is not a caring association for the betterment of our children, but a load of-- a load of poppycock!" 

Bilbo was rather impressed that he had not wavered one bit during his speech, and Mr. Oakenshield looked flabberghasted, which was a lovely look on him, really, all asshole-ish tendencies aside. 

“Wow, Uncle, he burned you,” Kili laughed, patting Bilbo on the back. All the energy seemed to sap out of Bilbo at this point, and he collapsed into his chair, crossing his arms.

“If you really want me to leave, I will,” Bilbo muttered, defeated. Mr. Oakenshield blinked, tilting his head to the side.

“Yes, well-- I’m sorry, Mr. Baggins, but perhaps it’s for the best,” Mr. Oakenshield said, although he seemed far more respectful now than he had been before Bilbo’s little blow up.

“Aw, but Uncle!” Kili started to complain, but Bilbo shushed him with a gentle hand to his shoulder.

“It’s fine, Kili,” Bilbo stood, nodding at Mr. Oakenshield before heading for the door. Behind him, the entire company of the PTSA began grumbling, their voice blending into each other so that Bilbo couldn’t tell what was being said. 

He was just about out of the door when another tall, majestic figure filled the doorway, back illuminated by the light of the setting sun. 

“Not this shit again!” Bofur yelled in the background.

“Mr. Baggins! What a surprise to see you!” Gandalf said, stepping into the room. 

Bilbo was never going to get home.

 


	2. Chapter 2

All in all, besides the people and the strange adversity to Outsiders, the PTSA seemed like a normal enough association. They went over the basic things that PTSAs went over, which happened to be mundane things like food safety and money spent on clubs and the such, and if Bilbo hadn't known any better, he would have thought that Balin, the vice president of the very respectable PTSA, had fallen asleep halfway between the arguments about the amount of money Thorin was willing to grant for the DJ at Homecoming and the PTSA’s annual dinner dance, which was set to be the first weekend of September, not more than three weeks away.

“Oh! A ball!” Bilbo had said, excited, which had woken up a quietly snoring Balin.

“We’re really doin’ that, then?” Kili asked, voice odd and excited.

“Well, you wouldn’t be invited, would you, boy?” Dwalin muttered, crossing his arms, “It’s twenty one and over.”

“Then Fili shouldn’t be allowed to go either!”

“It’s none o’yer business what Fili does and doesn’t do, now is it?” Dwalin replied, gruffly, “Now that he ain’t in the force no more.”

Balin coughed loudly, his eyes directed at Mr. Oakenshield, whose face was incredibly red and angry looking, for whatever reason (Bilbo was beginning to suspect he always looked like this).

“Anyway,” Balin placed a hand on the cafeteria table, looking very regal and intelligent, “as it is, I believe that this, erm, ball... as it is to be called, will be a great opportunity to speak with allies-" Balin stopped short, glancing at Bilbo, "by which I mean other parents! Of the PTSA! Oh dear, I'm going to stop talking now."

It was all a bit confusing for Bilbo.

"Bilbo, my boy," Gandalf said, standing and motioning towards the twin set of push doors that led out to the quad of the high school. "How about a bit of a light, hmm?"

Bilbo spluttered. "We can't smoke on school grounds!"

"Why not? All the kids do it," Kili sounded frighteningly amused, even when Dwalin cuffed him on the back of his head. "What, I'm 18! It's legal!"

"Why are you here, anyway?" Bilbo asked, feeling wrong footed as the rest of the PTSA company watched on. Gandalf had him by the scruff on his neck, dragging him along towards the doors.

"Didn't you know? I'm on the school district board of trustees."

Bilbo did not, in fact, know this.

 

* * *

 

Fee looked slightly displeased the next time he saw Bilbo, although for the life of him, Bilbo had no idea why. Fee had shuffled over, after Frodo had disappeared into one of the stacks with the cashier he had set his eyes on, and produced a strawberry milkshake from behind his back. How he knew that Bilbo’s favorite milkshake was the one of the strawberry variety, Bilbo was unsure, but he never looked a gift horse in the mouth, or rather a gift milkshake as it were, not that milkshakes had mouths or anything, and good golly, was he saying this all out loud?

“I find it adorable,” Fee said, when Bilbo had stopped babbling, “And I saw you eyeing the strawberry milkshake when you came in, so I thought, eh, give it a go.” Fee reached across and placed his hand on Bilbo’s wrist, which was flicking and twitching nervously as it often did when he was, well, nervous.

“I heard you went to the PTSA meeting,” that displeased look returned to his face, this time making a little furrow appear between his blonde eyebrows. Bilbo’s fingers ached to smooth it out with a finger; he had no idea where that impulse came from, and was forced to clamp down on it quickly, lest he do something strange like actually reach out.

“This troubles you?” Bilbo asked, slurping at his milkshake.

“I wasn’t serious, you know,” Fee grimaced some more, and he had no right to look as handsome and young as he did, thank you very much. “When I said to go check it out. The PTSA, it isn’t all that great.”

“I like it,” Bilbo quirked an eyebrow, tapping his fingers again. Fee’s hand dwarfed his as he pressed his palm to Bilbo’s twitching fingers, stopping their movements. “They seem kind, the lot of them. Bofur and Nori and Kili, and the rest of them too,” he didn’t add that Thorin scared the hell out of him.

Fee flinched, oddly enough, but composed himself, his face slating clean in a way that reminded him remarkably of someone else, if only he could put a finger on it. His hand made an aborted attempt at pulling away from Fee’s, but his fingers were squeezed reassuringly, and there was little else to do but sigh and wrap his own around Fee’s strong ones.

“I just think there are much nicer people for you to spend your time with,” Fee said, solemnly, as if the weight of the world depended on what Bilbo would say to this odd request. It was beginning to feel like he was having two completely different conversations with Fee. It was beginning to feel like that a lot, with everyone, it seemed.

“Funny,” Bilbo smiled, although it wasn’t actually funny in the slightest, “That’s exactly what Gandalf said to me earlier.”

“You know Gandalf?” Fee sounded surprised.

“Oh dear, do you know him too? I feel as if everyone seems to know the infamous Gandalf,” Bilbo sighed, truly pulling his hand away this time, and resolutely ignoring the look of disappointment on Fee’s face. “He’s my editor. Of course I know him.”

“He’s on the board for the school district,” Fee laughed, “although I’m not sure he does much else but smoke pot and hang with the PTSA.”

“Of course,” Bilbo nodded, seriously, and then giggled when Fee dimpled sweetly at him. “They’re an interesting bunch, certainly, but how else am I expected to make friends in this place?”

“You could go out with me,” and when Bilbo looked to turn him down, he held up a hand to stop him, “I didn’t mean like that, although that offer is still open. I meant go out for a drink with my friends and me, you know, come to some parties or something.”

Bilbo smiled, “Ah, Fee, that’s very kind of you but you’re- you’re a bit young, is all, and I don’t think your friends would have much fun with an old man like me hanging around.”

Fee didn’t look deterred, “I’m not that young,” he insisted, although the way he leaned across the table, his hands spread out on the edge of it, spoke otherwise. “And they would like you. I bet everyone likes you. You’re just… likeable.”

Bilbo shook his head, “No, that’s not true. The president of the PTSA doesn’t seem to like me very much. His name’s Thorin and he’s a bit…”

“Overbearing? Snooty? Rude? Uptight?”

“I was going to say majestic, but those all work too, in a different sort of way I suppose,” Bilbo tinkered with the button of his polo, unsure where in this conversation everything had gotten a bit strange. “You’ve met him, then?”

“Oh yes, I’ve met Mr. Oakenshield,” Fee didn’t look too happy about it, either, “He’s what you’d call a giant twat.”

Bilbo gasped. “Fee! Is that really– there are _children_ about, you know!”

Fee glanced to the side, and Bilbo followed his gaze, nearly falling out of his chair when he spotted Frodo enthusiastically making out with the store clerk, _Aragorn_ if he remembered correctly, who was about as good as dead as far as Bilbo was concerned.

“Why you-! Get your filthy paws off my nephew-son!”

 

* * *

 

After apologies from Aragorn (a university student, why he never!) and a few badly suppressed fits of laughter from Fee, Bilbo left the comic shop with a very angry Frodo and a free root beer float in a takeaway cup.

“You told me to make friends!” Frodo pouted, continuing with the one-sided argument that had begun when Bilbo had wrenched Frodo’s face off of Aragorn’s. “I was making a friend!”

Bilbo’s patience was wearing thin. “I said _friend_ , not- not to swap spit with a university student!”

“He’s _18_ , Bilbo, hardly twenty years older than me! And you’re one to talk, getting all cozy with Fili! Who’s 20, by the way, not twenty-five like I know he’s been telling you he is!”

“Who the hell is Fili?” Bilbo asked, perplexed, although something in the back of his head was beginning to slot into place. If only he could remember where he had heard that name before-

“Bilbo! Hey, man!” A large hand came clamping down on his shoulder, and he glanced up, surprised. Bofur was smiling at him, his body blocking the pathway.

“Bofur, fancy seeing you here!” Bilbo said, although it was hardly fancy seeing him here, as they both lived in a small enough town that bumping into each other was far from unlikely. “How are you today?” he said as if they had not just met yesterday for the first time.

“Ah, I’m swell! Yeah, was just about to see an old friend,” Bofur glanced over Bilbo’s shoulder at the comic shop, “But it seems Thorin and Gandalf have butted heads just down the street and have yet to come to meet me down here.”

Bilbo looked past Bofur, seeing Thorin’s dark head of hair and Gandalf’s cloak fluttering in the wind.

“Hello there, what’s your name?” Bofur asked, swooping down slightly so that he could look into Frodo’s face. Baggins were small people, that was for certain, and for all the self consciousness that Bilbo had felt growing up while being unattractively short, it was evident that Frodo took it in stride and never felt belittled by it. Frodo didn’t even flinch back when Bofur got into his space, sticking his nose up and sniffing haughtily, as teenagers often did when being difficult.

“I’m Frodo Baggins, and you sir have no sense of personal space,” he announced, crossing his arms. Bilbo gaped.

“Frodo!” he yelped, pulling on his nephew-son’s arm, “Dear me, what has gotten into you today?”

“I want to go hang out with Aragorn! He said he wanted to take me out to the movies and dinner tonight,” he pouted, his blue eyes doubling in size, a trick Bilbo recalled him doing when he was a petulant child. Primula had given him anything when that look was directed on her. The thought made Bilbo feel achy on the inside, his chest constricting, and he gave a stiff nod of approval without much thought to it. The boy certainly deserved something good in his life, especially when he had such a terrible caregiver as Bilbo watching over him.

“Be home by ten, you hear me?” Bilbo said, although with no real heat, feeling suddenly drained and compliant to all of his nephew-son’s wishes.

Frodo perked up, his eyes scrunching up sweetly behind his thick framed glasses, “Thanks, Duncle, you’re the best!” He sprang off and back into the comic book store, the little bell above the door jingling as it slammed behind him.

“Energetic boy, ain’t he?” Bofur smiled, his beard waggling in a way Bilbo had only seen before in cartoons.

“Yes.” Bilbo said nothing else to it, not feeling up to explaining the situation to a near stranger, no matter how kind and courteous he happened to be.

Bilbo looked over Bofur’s shoulder, seeing Gandalf and Mr. Oakenshield’s large figures emerging from seemingly nowhere. He felt self conscious of his height for the first time in years. "Hello Master Baggins!" Gandalf said cheerily, waving.

Bilbo smiled, although a bit shyly, as Mr. Oakenshield had directed that icy blue stare at him again.

"Hello Gandalf," Bilbo inclined his head, "Mr. Oakenshield." If nothing else, Bilbo Baggins was polite.

"Thorin and I were just discussing the next PTSA meeting," Gandalf tipped his fedora forward with a grin.

"Were ya now?" Bofur seemed amused, although heaven knew why.

"Yes," Mr. Oakenshield’s voice was a timbre of rich, deep tones.

“And what did you decide?” Bilbo asked, curious, as he was sure it had something to do with him.

“We decided that you would be a helpful member of the PTSA indeed, Master Baggins,” Gandalf said, smiling.

Before Bilbo could reply, Mr. Oakenshield was speaking. “Is it true you are a hacker?”

Bilbo gaped. He hadn’t been asked about his hacking skills in a very long time. “Well, if you must know, I’m quite good with computers, yes.” He glanced at Gandalf, who gave him a short nod of his head, as if saying it was alright to divulge the secrets of the Bagginses, “And I do possess a certain special set of skills. All Baggins of my generation do. We were raised with them.”

“You were raised as a hacker?” Bofur looked surprised, and Bilbo blushed.

“Well, I-”

“Oh, Master Baggins is the best there is!” Gandalf wrapped an arm around Bilbo’s shoulder, jostling him, “And I’m sure he’ll be of much use to the PTSA.” He directed his gaze to Mr. Oakenshield.

“I don’t understan-”

“Well, Mister Baggins,” Mr. Oakenshield dipped his chin down, a polite gesture, “we will see you at the next PTSA meeting on Wednesday. I do so hope I don’t regret it.”

And with that, they were gone, sweeping away into the fading sunlight like some sort of gang of heroes. Bilbo was left deeply unimpressed.

“I don’t understand,” he said, eyes gazing at their retreating forms, “I really don’t.”

 

* * *

 

Frodo came rattling in through the backdoor just as dinner was finished.

“Hello lad, hope you had fun!” Bilbo said, taking the pot pie out of the oven, “I’ve made chicken!”

Frodo didn’t seem to hear him, his steps heavy as he stomped up the stairs, the sound of his bedroom door slamming alerting Bilbo that something was not quite right.

Bilbo put down the pot pie, shuffling around the kitchen a bit to stall, before he went upstairs, wringing his hands nervously. Certainly he hadn’t done anything wrong, right? Bilbo was still new to this, and he had given Frodo exactly what he wanted from the start, although with a few parameters as it were, but…

“Frodo, are you alright, laddie?” Bilbo opened the bedroom door, frowning at Frodo’s figure sprawled face down across the bed.

“No,” came Frodo’s reply, muffled by the pillows. Bilbo sat at the foot of the bed, opening and closing his mouth a few times, unsure what to say.

“Right, well,” Bilbo placed his hands in his lap, “what’s happened, then? That boy… Aragon didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Frodo groaned into his pillow, flipping onto his back and kicking his legs out, “His name is Aragorn and _no_ , he was fine. We had fun.”

“That’s a relief!” Bilbo laughed, and then became serious again, “Although… not _too_ much fun, I am hoping.”

Frodo reached for his glasses, sliding them on just so he could look at Bilbo incredulously, “This is so awkward.”

Bilbo flopped onto the bed beside Frodo, “I don’t know how to be a parent.”

“It’s fine,” Frodo reassured, patting Bilbo’s hand. There was a moment of content silence before Frodo spoke up again, “Sam’s got a girlfriend.”

“Oh? Sorry, who’s Sam?”

Frodo’s knee knocked against Bilbo’s. “The Gamgees’ boy. Sam.”

“Oh! Right, Sam! I remember him. Good lad. What does this have to do with anything?”

“He’s my boyfriend!” Frodo yelled, turning on the bed to bury his face into the pillows once more.

“I don’t think I’m understanding this correctly,” Bilbo scratched his chin, “slow down a bit.”

“He’s not my… well, he use to be, at least. Back in London,” Frodo sighed, “but now he’s dating _Rosie Cotton_ , that goddamn _slut_ \- sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to say that.”

Bilbo heaved a breath through his nose, “It’s alright. Just think of me as your uncle, for now. Tell me more about this… slut.”

Frodo giggled. “God, alright, alright. So, when Sam and I were together, Rosie had always been all over him. And, look, Sam would never cheat on me. He wouldn’t. He was always really good about that, but Rosie! I swear, the way they looked at each other,” Frodo snorted, “I always knew. I _always_ knew. Sam was into her. He loved me, I know, I know, but Rosie is just his type. Fucking… easy, that’s what she is. Sam loves that.”

“Wow, fuck her,” Bilbo said, nodding, “And fuck him too.”

“No, no!” Frodo shook his head, “No, Sam’s good. Sam is- it was hard, when we split up. It was right after mum and da passed. He didn’t- I couldn’t. You know? I couldn’t anymore. It didn’t feel like I had the capacity to love, not with them gone.” Bilbo reached out and took Frodo’s hand as he continued, “He deserves something that isn’t broken.”

Bilbo turned on his side, “What? Frodo, how could you ever think that? You aren’t broken. You _aren’t_.”

“No, but I am,” Frodo bit his lip, “I am, I know it. Sam tried his best. Said he would carry me when I couldn’t carry on, but I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to be leaning on him, constantly. This is my burden to face. This is _mine_. I couldn’t make him take it on beside me.” Frodo sighed again, “And it worked out, too, because we moved away a month after I dumped Sam. I thought distance would make it easier. But fucking Rosie Cotton! Fuck her!”

Bilbo laughed, “Alright, we all hate Rosie Cotton.”

“Yeah!” Frodo sat up, hugging his knees to his chest, and said, quieter this time, “yeah.”

Bilbo put a hand on his knee. “And this Aragon?”

“Aragorn, Duncle,” Frodo sounded exasperated, “His name’s Aragorn. And he was… I don’t know. He’s nice and I like him, but it’s not…”

“Not everything has to be love, Frodo, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, I do. But Sam…”

“Is across the ocean with fucking Rosie Cotton,” Bilbo patted his knee, “and you are here, right now.” Frodo let out a breath, his head lowering to rest against his arms. “Listen, how about we go downstairs and have that pot pie and I’ll let you have some wine after dinner. It’ll help you forget all about fucking Rosie Cotton and Sam Gamgee.”

Frodo perked up at that. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Bilbo smiled, feeling for once he had gotten something right.

“Thanks, Duncle,” Frodo got up, running a hand through his hair. “And by the way, I like this better. I don’t need another parent, you know? I had two great ones. All I need is someone to be there for me. Just like this.”

Bilbo grinned, his cheeks hurting from how wide it was. “Alright. Just like this.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, literally nothing happens in this chapter. apologies. next one up soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a note: Erebor is located in the United States because I have no idea what the school system in Europe is like. I'll try my best to get the next part out asap.
> 
> also at some point in the future i will go back and edit this but bc i have no beta this is what u get. enjoy.
> 
> follow me on tumblr: hellapenos.tumblr.com


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